I did not know the power of hearing a story until I heard dad told me this story yesterday. After we had dinner, dad took me to my bed and smiled at me warmly. Then he moved a special chair in my room next to my bed. This chair is special to me not because it is a beautiful piece of furniture in my bedroom but because dad sits on it every night to tell me a story.

I laid on my bed with eyes wide open and with an undivided attention to hear what he has to tell me. I knew it was going to be awesome as every night I embark on an exciting journey with him. It was not about the story itself but about how it bonds me with dad deeply and intimately. To prove you my point, I do not think I would feel the same if someone else told me the same beautiful story dad tells me.

I do not know why I am so hungry to hear stories narrated by my father. Maybe because I love to hear his voice and a story gives me a chance to hear him long enough to satisfy my deepest need. When dad tells me a story, I know it is pure love. Maybe a storyteller tells stories to show off, to amaze you, for money or to change your beliefs not because it benefits you but because it benefits him. It is what a movie does or a theater play, or any other form of storytelling.

Dad loves me, this I know. He will put all of himself and all of his energy in any story he tells me. He gets creative not because he is good in storytelling but because he loves me. Love is the fountain of creativity!

I am sorry I have to leave you now; I must shut the door to be alone with dad. Sorry, you cannot come in to hear what he is going to tell me. Mmmm, I am not being rude here but how do I say this? It is kind of an intimate atmosphere where only the presence of silence, dad and me can be in the room. I will not even tell you tomorrow what he told me, don’t expect that, please.

Intimacy with my Father is the holiest thing to me in the world. A public intimacy always becomes like pornography and I am not allowing this.